This is a song about "Canadian tire store"

Type of life a nigga kill or go to jail for

Like that one whore yeah that one i meet at the store,

She's lost for words from the #tire #placement on her neck hide

It's a pimp in my ride, no need to pimp the ride

Especially if you don't know what you fightin' for

Swagging till i'm too poor, to afford, a rolly from the store

I am only a fighter, in the form of a writer

Than the prices on a canadian-tire freaking flyer/

She blow me like a tire

J. cole's her ghost writer

So i told her i got something you've been waiting for

He's being cornered, with little ammo in store

To go from sellin’ bags to bottles right out the store

My visions that i record, the instruments i adore

I've got more rhymes off the chain than an independent store,

Controling my steamknowing my team to deserve more